Ghost Flame
by Pachelbel
Summary: As a young Ranger, Aragorn found a strange, unpredictable place of power. Centuries after his death, it resurfaces, and is found by one who has almost nothing to fight for... [discontinued]


Author's Notes: This takes place partly when Aragorn was a strapping young thing, running around in the wild after he fell in love with Arwen (but the love wasn't yet returned), and then five hundred years after his death.

  
  


Ghost Flame

The cave was perched high on the mountain, becoming clearly visible only at sundown, when its gray mouth became alive, it's colors flaming blood red. If it could be seen from this far below, the cave had to be enormous.

Aragorn came up the mountain side, caring little for the growing darkness. Easily could his eyes pierce the night. Quickly he glanced back, and saw his horse in the meadow, small and dark from this height.

As he finished the climb and reached the cave, purple twilight at last claimed the mountain peak, and instantly through the dark Aragorn was washed with a pale, white glow, coming from far back in the cave.

The young man's face held no surprise. He had been told of this; the difficulty was in entering the cave. The last man to do so was gravely injured now; the ceiling had crumbled, and a peculiarly large rock had crushed his collar bone, and pinned him there until his brother had come for him.

The light shifted and glittered, like the light thrown from a jewel, or many jewels. More than likely, this had been -or was still- a dragon's lair. If this was the case, and the cave was still occupied, then it was by a lazy dragon, one who had not left the cave in decades.

Keeping his eyes alert for cracks in the ceiling, Aragorn stepped into the cave and moved silently to the welcoming lights.

  
  


Seven hundred years later...

  
  


Wood shavings fell at Legolas' feet, and dust from the supple gray beams floated in the warm air and settled on his green tunic. His mouth was set in a stubborn frown as his arms moved back and forth, smoothing out what was slowly becoming the skeleton of a ship. His eyes were distant.

"Legolas?" 

The prince paused. "Mithrandir," he acknowledged, respectfully, and resumed his work.

Gandalf moved into the corner of Legolas' line of sight, and dust moved tentatively towards him as well. "I was not aware you still enjoyed sailing, Legolas," he commented.

The fine metal tool scraped away at the grain of the wood. "I do," he answered, his tone almost cautious. "I awoke one evening with a desire to make something. I wasn't even certain I could remember how, but it deserved a try."

The wizard turned a critical eye over the prince's handiwork. "It seems to be turning out even better than your first ship, were it possible."

Bright grey eyes turned on him, searching, almost hurt. Legolas turned away, and moved on to the next beam. "Nay...say not so, that this is better. It is not possible."

  
  


"One wonders where his heart pulls him to," Elrond said quietly. "That he would build a ship."

"Do not worry," Gandalf answered. "For I do not perceive that he yearns for any place more than this. He is home."

Legolas' ship was in the harbor, smaller than many other vessels that had been to or from Valinor. Shortly after Gandalf had spoken, Legolas came running up from the beach. "Mithrandir! It is finished!"

"I see," Gandalf answered, smiling.

"I would have you come with me on her maiden voyage," he said. "I doubt she will sink if you are aboard."

"You share your father's superstition," Elrond observed.

"Alas, I fear I do. Neither of us would set sail alone, though Morgoth himself be at our heels," Legolas laughed ruefully.

"I would love to, Legolas," Gandalf answered. "Though your fears are baseless; I have seen the quality of your vessel."

"I am pleased," Legolas said, smiling. "We shall return in two nights, I expect."

They set off in what could have been a few hours (in Valinor, time mattered not, for all there were immortal, save four only, who had long since gone on to mortal death). They sailed two days, speaking of many things, and examining from afar the land in which they lived.

Valinor became hidden by its silver mists, as they sailed further out West, though always, if they looked hard enough, it was in sight. Many trips like this they made together, bringing whomever wished to accompany them, though most often Legolas and Gandalf traveled alone.

  
  


Legolas stepped off the ship, looking about this new land. It was beautiful in it's own right, though Valinor was still fresh in his mind's eye, and this beach seemed to him bland and flat. Music drifted to him, so faint he could hardly pick out the notes.

"Tiro, Mithrandir. Tolo lim!" He cried, looking back up into the boat. Gandalf stepped off and stood next to him. "Where are we?"

"I do not know, Legolas," he admitted, a strange thing for him to say.

Legolas was about to suggest getting back in the boat, or else exploring, but the words froze in his throat as he stared into the brilliant green jungle before him. Gandalf remained standing on the beach, as Legolas walked away and was hidden by the eaves of the strange plants.

It had been long since he had had need of his skills as a warrior, but they were peaked now, as he searched for whatever it was that was crashing about in the undergrowth. 

The deer sprang nimbly over a hedge, it's back feet hardly brushing the tallest leaves. It grazed for sometime before it noticed Legolas, and raised it's bright brown eyes to him. They stared at each other, until at last the buck began to walk towards him. As it came, it seemed to the Elf that it was losing, or...changing it's shape.

Hair-thin lines appeared on it, as if it had been a piece of pottery shattered and then pieced back together. Sun-bright light shone out of those lines and grew, until the raiment of a deer flew off of this creature and floated away like black mist. In it's place came a dark-haired man, in clothing of some forgotten era.

He stopped only a few feet from the Elf and said confidently, "Welcome, Legolas, ye who dwells in the Haven of the Valar."

"Who are you?"

The man considered Legolas' question, but time did not seem to pass. "I am a guide. Come; there are many here who have longed to look upon thy face."

"What of my friend? Mithrandir?"

"You needn't concern yourself over him. He has returned to the shores of Valinor." Legolas threw his glance back the way he had come, but the leaves were thick, and smothered even the sound of the ocean.

Pushing ship and beach out of his mind, he followed along without a word.

  
  


"Legolas! It's Legolas! He's coming!"

At this, the Elf paused. His guide turned, patient and knowing. "You hear them already? Hurry; you mustn't keep them waiting very long."

Legolas said nothing, but puzzled over these strange words. What was 'long' here?

"See this," the man said, walking up a small incline and pushing aside the thick black branches of two pine trees. Legolas knew what he would see already, for he had seen glimpses of it miles back.

"A village," the Elf said, keeping his voice level to hide his lack of enthusiasm.

"Legolas! It's Legolas! He's coming!" The girl's voice was louder now; not very, but enough that he should have been able to see her.

Casting his eyes about, he saw a little flash of yellow and immediately recognized it as a Hobbit. Easily, he raced over the forest growth, and caught up to her. "Legolas! You're here!" Her round, pretty face turned up to him. "Papa has missed you so!"

Legolas realized he was shaking slightly, but couldn't seem to stop. Elanor Gamgee held up a hand, beckoning him to take it and follow.


End file.
